Healing Touch
by arineat
Summary: After an accident forces Harry away from professional Quidditch and back to Hogwarts, he discovers the healing abilities of a certain former Slytherin. Co-written by Arineat & Digitallace for hd smoochfest on LJ. H/D, EWE, M/M, Completed - 5 parts.
1. Part I

A/N:

Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Warning(s): None  
Epilogue compliant? No  
Word Count:~18,800

This was written for a prompt for hd_smoochfest over on LJ. The original prompt was:

Time Period: 5 to 10 years after the war ends,  
Place: Hogwarts  
Object/Word Prompts: snarky and extremely sexy Draco, mature and well-built Harry, Marauders' Map, Veritaserum, massages, oral sex, M&M sex, rimming, both men top & bottom for each other, Headmaster's chair in Great Hall, Snape's old desk, Quidditch locker room, McGonagall's desk  
Action: Draco is Potions Master at Hogwarts. Harry applies for position as Quidditch coach after an injury forces his retirement from professional Quidditch. His injury was severe but did not cause lasting damage—just lingering soreness even though the bones were healed. After Harry is hired for the position, Draco offers to brew him a potent pain potion to drink and one to rub on the afflicted area. Harry finds out he can't stop thinking about Draco after the Potions Master massages his injured area. Draco is attracted to Harry but isn't sure if Harry likes wizards instead of witches. In true Slytherin fashion, Draco decides to slip Harry some Veritaserum so he can question Harry about his sexual preferences. Once they find they are attracted to each other, no location at Hogwarts is off limits for sex.  
Preferences/Other Notes: Would prefer something NC-17 with a longer word length (though the length is not a must). Location of Harry's injury your choice. I hope I've given you enough to work with.d

Thanks a billionty to Digitallace for agreeing to help me co-write it when I got stuck. Without you, this fic wouldn't exist. I love you, my wonderful brain twin. You are epic. *squiiiishyrape*

Another thank you to our beta, the incomparable Cheryl Dyson! You are made of win.

Part 1

"Mr. Potter, do come in."

Minerva McGonagall looked up from her desk to greet Harry with a smile as he entered the Headmistress' office. Gesturing to the chair directly opposite her, she took a moment to call a house-elf, requesting afternoon tea for two before turning back to him. "It's wonderful to see you again, Harry."

"It's great to see you, too, Professor," Harry replied, an answering smile on his face.

The Headmistress waved her hand dismissively at the title as the house-elf returned with a large trolley filled with the tea service and cakes. "Harry, we're colleagues now, please call me Minerva"

Harry flushed a bit but nodded. "Okay, Minerva." The name sounded foreign on his tongue, but he smiled anyways. He'd get used to it. Probably.

Minerva nodded once and handed him his cup. Once they had fixed their respective teas; Harry with two sugars and milk, hers with just a smattering of cream, she sat back and regarded the man before her.

"I was sorry to hear about your accident. I do hope you're feeling better," she said, a motherly look of concern on her face.

Harry shifted in his seat, a small twinge of pain shooting through his hip and lower back. "It's been hard, but I'm getting there."

"Well, Puddlemere's loss is Hogwarts' gain it seems. I'm glad you decided to take me up on my offer, Merlin knows you are more than qualified for the position."

Harry smiled and sipped his tea, nodding as Minerva began to outline the list of his duties.

"You'll head classes during the week and supervise the occasional practice, and of course there is refereeing the matches. Madam Hooch left a few notes and details for her successor," she said with an arched brow as she handed Harry a rather thick file.

Harry's eyes widened a bit behind his glasses as he reached for the heavy folder. Taking a brief peek inside he let out a soft chuckle at Madam Hooch's thoroughness. The old bird wouldn't leave her post to just anyone, nor did she appear ready to let Hogwarts Quidditch deteriorate in her absence.

"I'll give it a thorough read-through," Harry promised with a smile as he closed the folder.

"Very good. Now, if you're finished with your tea I'll show you to your quarters."

Harry nodded and set his empty cup aside. Rising, he followed the Headmistress down the spiral staircase and through the hallowed halls of his former school. The ex-Gryffindor smiled as they made their way down to the first floor, nodding at the familiar portraits as he passed. He shook his head lightly as the portraits began to leave their frames, following his progress and whispering excitedly to one another, eagerly spreading the word of his return. It was good to be home.

They came to a stop in the second floor corridor outside of a very familiar portrait. Harry looked once and found himself doing a double take.

"Sir Cadogan?"

"Harry Potter, we meet again." The small knight bowed low. "Never fear, Mr. Potter, I shall guard you with the honour and fervour befitting a hero such as yourself! No villains shall dare to challenge Sir Cadogan!"

Harry bit back a laugh as the painting brandished his sword at an imaginary foe. Minerva rolled her eyes lightly and spoke up. "Do calm yourself, Sir Cadogan. Valiant Steed." She said the password with obvious exasperation.

The knight looked a tad deflated at her rebuke but he acquiesced and begrudgingly swung the portrait open to reveal the entrance to Harry's new chambers. Without bothering to acknowledge Sir Cadogan's loud mutterings about the proper respect befitting a knight of his stature, Minerva swept through the portal, beckoning Harry to follow her.

Harry entered the room beyond the painting, still shaking his head in amusement. "It's good to know that some things never change."

"Indeed," Minerva replied with a wry smile. "These are your quarters. Your bedchamber is through that door there and the door at the back leads to your private office." She gestured around the room, pointing out the various features.

"The fireplace is connected to the inter-school Floo network and you'll be able to reach most of the staff that way. There will be a staff meeting tomorrow morning at eight before the students arrive, please make sure you are on time. The house-elves will have already brought your personal affects up, of course. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Hm? Oh, no, nothing, thanks," Harry replied absently as he looked about the room.

"Very well. If you should need anything you have only to call a house-elf. Dobby is always eager to help the great Harry Potter," she said with an amused look. "In any case, I'll let you get settled."

She paused and turned back with a warm smile as she reached the portrait. "It's good to have you back, Harry."

"Thank you, Prof-Minerva," he said with a grin, stumbling over her first name once more. He doubted he would ever get used to thinking of her as 'Minerva' instead of 'Professor McGonagall'.

With a friendly nod, the Headmistress exited the room, leaving Harry to familiarize himself with his new quarters.

After a cursory glance around his bedroom, Harry dropped to the bed with a pleased sigh. Yes, it was very good to be home.

Harry woke with a dreaded certainty that he was late. Grabbing his wand from the bedside locker, he cast a _Tempus _and swore. He had fifteen minutes to shower, change and get to the staff meeting.

Rolling out of the bed with a litany of curses, he stripped off his clothes and cast a full body Cleansing Charm, wincing at the sting of having a layer of skin and dirt removed. He didn't have time for the hot shower he so longed for. Harry hurried to his wardrobe and fumbled his way into a set of new robes.

He straightened them as he made his way to his private bathroom and brushed his teeth. Frowning at his reflection, he wasted a few precious minutes trying to tackle the crow's nest that was his hair. He finally gave up when the mirror laughed at him. Glaring at the glass, he slid on his shoes and rushed out the door.

By the time Harry finally made it to the meeting he was more than ten minutes late. He tried to enter quietly, but his stealthy appearance was ruined by the stabbing pains shooting through his lower back and a weakness in his hip that sent him scrambling loudly for the first available chair. Hanging his head, he waited as the sharp shooting pains lessened to a dull, throbbing ache. When he looked up, his eyes met shocked grey. Harry stared, unblinking, at Draco Malfoy from barely a foot away. His heart gave a strange lurch at the expression of surprise and curiosity on Malfoy's face.

After a long moment, the blond seemed to remember where they were and the surprised expression melted into the cool unreadable Malfoy mask that Harry remembered from his school days.

"Are you so famous now that you can just burst into a room whenever the mood arises?" Draco commented blandly. "Or is there some explanation for why you're stumbling into our staff meeting like a drunken idiot?"

Harry shot him a dark look, but before he could answer, Minerva stepped forward, clearing her throat. "As I mentioned, we have a number of topics to discuss this morning. First and foremost, is the newest addition to our staff. Mr. Potter will be Hogwarts' new Quidditch coach."

The was a smattering of applause and congratulations, which Harry accepted through gritted teeth and a false smile, partly because of the pain still lingering in his muscles and partly in response to Malfoy's rude welcome.

"You can't be serious," Malfoy asked, rising from his chair just beside the pained Potter. "How are the students to learn when they'll be too busy being besotted by his celebrity? It's hard enough to get their short attention spans to focus on their lessons."

"I doubt you'll have to worry about that, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva cooed in a firm, authoritative voice as she settled a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "Once the students get to know him, they'll realize that Harry is just like any other professor. He'll be strict, yet kind, friendly, but professional and I'm sure he'll hold the utmost regard for being. On. Time. Am I correct, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded like a chastised student; ignoring the smug grin Malfoy shot him when McGonagall wasn't looking. "Of course, Headmistress," he answered dutifully.

"There, you see?" she chimed, squeezing Malfoy's shoulder gently. "Nothing to worry about. Unless of course you're concerned that _you _might become besotted with Harry's celebrity, Mr. Malfoy?"

The gathered staff tittered softly, as did some of the portraits that were awake enough to have heard the exchange. Malfoy rolled his eyes and slumped gracefully into his seat, glaring at the table just shy of where Harry looked back triumphantly. "I hardly think that's likely," he muttered darkly.

"Excellent. So, if there are no more concerns about our newest staff member, I'd like to move on to the Forbidden Forest. As you know, it's been a problematic area for some of our older, thrill-seeking students. Just because the war is over, doesn't make it any less perilous," she pointed out. From there Harry only heard a portion of what the Headmistress droned on about. She didn't have quite the flair for capturing an audience that Dumbledore had had, and Harry's mind – and gaze - kept wandering to the blond beside him.

How could Draco Malfoy still hold such animosity for him after so many years?

He assumed Malfoy taught potions, unless of course they'd started lessons on how to be an arrogant arse since they'd graduated. The thought of Malfoy conducting a classroom in the art of schooling one's face into a sneer made him smile softly and he looked up to find the Slytherin staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Harry's grin turned wide and crooked and he nearly laughed aloud when Malfoy's eyes widened slightly and his cheeks flushed a pale pink.

Malfoy quickly glanced away, his face set in its usual haughty indifference, but it was too late. Harry had caught him, noticed that there was real emotion underneath that stony mask, and he was determined to see more.

XXX

When the staff meeting released, Draco stood swiftly, his mind still trying to process the man who had waltzed – or rather tumbled unceremoniously - back into his life. Potter looked different. His hair was still an unruly mess, but his features had matured nicely and his eyes seemed to sparkle even more than they had when he was a boy. To say Potter was handsome would have been stating the glaringly obvious.

But the most disarming thing about Potter's presence wasn't how different he was physically, but how unchanged Draco felt about him. After ten years worth of distance from him, Draco thought he had squashed the romantic feelings he'd had toward Harry Potter. It was blasphemous that he'd had them at all, but here he was, a grown man, and _blushing_ at the slightest hint of the man's attention. It was absurd.

He fled the meeting without a word to any of his fellow staff. Usually Draco got along fine with them, but he couldn't risk any further exposure to Potter until he had sorted out this crush nonsense. He was no longer a schoolboy, no longer under the strain of war and fear for his life. There was absolutely no excuse for Potter's smile to make him tingly and feverish. He simply had to retire to his quarters and remind himself of all the reasons that Potter was an insufferable arse, all while trying desperately not to actually think iabout/i his arse.

"No, not yet, Creevey!" Harry called as the tiny first year was fairly abducted by his broom with a rather girlish scream.

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes to himself, Harry mounted his own Nimbus Platinum and caught up to the wailing student. Wrapping his hand around the end of the broom, he gained control and steered a terrified David Creevey back down to Earth. The blond boy stumbled and fell on his arse in his haste to get off of the offending piece of wood.

"All right, Mr. Creevey?"

"Yes, Professor Potter," muttered the boy, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as his classmates chortled around him.

Harry offered the boy a hand up and a kind smile. After his first week of classes, David seemed to be the student most prone to accidents. To say that he wouldn't be winning the Quidditch cup anytime soon was a severe understatement. Just this past week the poor boy had suffered a number of bumps and scrapes, numerous falls, and a broken nose. Harry suspected quite a lot of the problem lay with the boy's insecurities and fear to fail in front of his classmates.

The noises of ridicule and amusement from the other first years were silenced with a single stern look from Harry, though a general sense of restlessness remained. Knowing he wasn't likely to get much more done in the final ten minutes of class and more than conscious of the stabbing pains shooting through his hip, he blew his whistle and released the students early. His last class of the day left eagerly with talk of the weekend rising excitedly in the air.

Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, Harry cast a spell to gather the equipment and headed to the Quidditch storage shed. Replacing the brooms, he locked the door, mounted his broom with a wince and flew gingerly to the front door of the castle. Before his accident, Harry would have loved nothing more than to make the long trek across the well-tended lawns of Hogwarts, enjoying the sunshine and smell of fresh cut grass, but there was no way he could make it all the way back without the pain in his body becoming too much to bear.

Harry cursed his weakness as he stumbled off of his broom and limped to open the doors of the Entrance Hall. He'd been berating himself for most of the day for leaving his pain potion in his rooms that morning as he slowly made his way toward the staircase. The potion wasn't great, but it served to take the more severe pain away and had allowed him to at least make it back to his quarters at the end of the day without too much trouble. His hip hadn't felt this bad since he had stopped using his cane a few months ago and he swore he could hear Hermione's voice shrieking in his head, calling him a stubborn idiot for overtaxing himself.

Gritting his teeth, Harry limped to the wall next to the staircase, barely managing to keep himself upright long enough to slump against it. Sweat beaded on his face and neck as he took deep, calming breaths and willed the pain away. He just had to make it to the second floor and he'd be fine.

After a few minutes, he let out a painful huff, shoved himself away from the wall and took a tentative step forward. Just as Harry moved, he found himself slamming into a hard, unyielding body and was suddenly tumbling backward. Strong hands shot out to grip his arms, steadying him before he could slam painfully to the polished marble floor. Harry's hands automatically clung to the person's forearms as he righted himself and looked up into startled grey eyes. His heart beat heavily against his ribcage, surely a product of his near fall, as Malfoy continued to stand there, holding him.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Malfoy blushed and pulled back with a sneer. "Why don't you watch where you're going, Potter, or do you expect everyone to just bow out of your way and allow your perfect arse to pass through?"

"My perfect arse?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I...oh fuck off, Scarhead."

"Whatever, Malfoy," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he awkwardly shoved past Draco and continued limping painfully toward the stairs.

He'd barely made it more than a few feet before Malfoy spoke again.

"Why are you limping, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth and continued on without answering, refusing to let Malfoy break his concentration. He was just a few feet from the banister now and he could use that to pull himself up the rest of the way if need be. Harry had almost managed to make it to the first step before his hip gave out and sent him stumbling, only to be saved yet again by the insufferable blond man at his side.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Have you been at the pub?"

"Nothing is wrong with me, Malfoy, and of course I haven't been out getting pissed. Believe it or not I take this job very seriously, now bugger off." The bite was taken from Harry's words by the pain that laced his tone.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy moved to put his arm around Harry's waist. "Let me help you, you git, or you'll fall and break your neck and I don't fancy explaining to McGonagall why the Great Gryffindor Savior and conqueror of the most powerful Dark Lord in a century was defeated by a measly set of stairs."

"I can walk just fine, you prat, now let me go."

Harry pulled forcefully away from Malfoy's arms with a growl, lost his grip on the banister and would have fallen backward off the stairs were it not for Draco's quick reflexes and strong arms enfolding around him.

"Oh yes, you're more than capable," Malfoy drawled with obvious exasperation as he regarded the shaking man. Rolling his eyes, the blond tightened his grip on Harry's waist and pulled him close as if to stabilize him.

"Come on, Potty, my chambers are closest."

With that, Malfoy began hauling Harry up the stairs, ignoring his glower.

By the time they reached the door to Malfoy's chambers, Harry was panting and leaning fully against the blond, much to his disgust. Sharp, breath-stealing pains were stabbing through his back and legs and it was all he could do to limp the last few feet to the chair in Malfoy's office rather than let the man carry him bodily into the room. Harry's stubborn pride was the only thing that kept him from further embarrassment.

"Sit here and don't move," Malfoy ordered as he deposited him into a plush armchair in front of the fireplace.

XXX

Ignoring the part of him that mourned the loss of being so close to Potter, Draco made his way to his chambers and into his potions stores. Selecting a high-grade pain and anti-inflammatory potion, he returned to find Potter struggling to rise from the chair. Letting out an irritated huff, he strode forward and pushed him forcefully back into the armchair, thrusting the vial at him.

"Drink this."

Potter's eyes narrowed to slits at the order, but he obeyed.

"Better?" Draco asked, a haughty undertone lacing the word. He knew his potions were unrivaled for potency and quality. A smug satisfaction settled over him as he realized that he was pleased to be the one to take Potter's pain away. He frowned slightly at that. He was supposed to enjoy tormenting Potter and inflicting pain, not helping to relieve it. Curse this stupid infatuation.

"Much," Potter replied reluctantly as he moved to rise from the chair again. Draco resisted the urge to reach out and help him. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment before inclining his head in response.

They stood in silence, regarding each other awkwardly for a moment before Harry finally tore his gaze from Malfoy's and moved toward the door, his limp all but gone.

"Potter," Draco called just as the brunet was about to close the door behind him.

"Yes?" Potter called, stepping back into the room.

"I could make you a potion that works far better than what you just took. If you wanted," he offered, trying to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

Potter gaped at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Uh, sure, yeah. That would be great, actually. Do you need me to do anything?"

"What, like help me stir? I think that would be quite unnecessary, especially given what I remember from your potions scores," he quipped, an amused smirk on his features.

Potter scowled. "Right. Of course. I only meant, would you need to know anything, or would I need to give you any ingredients for it. Hair or something?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Please tell me you don't just go around offering up your hair to Potions Masters, Potter. Do you realize what someone could do with that kind of personal ingredient?"

"They could Polyjuice themselves as me," Potter replied with a shrug.

"If they were even half as skilled as I am, they could also tailor a poison that would kill you instantly and without a trace." He seethed, unsure why Potter being so careless with his follicles mattered to him at all. It would be a blessing if someone were to finally smite him off this Earth, especially if it were in direct response to Potter's own stupidity.

Potter rolled his eyes, as he was prone to do when someone was making ridiculous statements. "Should I warn McGonagall? So that she'll know who to lock up if I turn up dead in your quarters?"

"Of course not." Draco huffed. "I was merely pointing out that one day your ignorance will get you killed."

"It can take a number," Potter replied, his tone bitter. "There is a long line of people and problems that want a piece of me." He stared down at his body with a pained expression. "Seven times. Seven times I faced off with Voldemort directly without so much as a broken bone, but flying…the one thing I was actually talented in, the one thing that could take my mind off of everything else, and that's what crippled me?"

Draco just stared at Potter in muted surprise as he ranted, confusion and concern threatening to rise up within him. He forced them back down, his face showing nothing of his thoughts. Finally, Potter fell silent, a muddled expression falling over his features.

"You'd best get up to bed, Potter," Draco said, his voice softening without his permission. "The drought has a mild relaxing agent that, given your exhaustion, will likely put you to sleep rather quickly." It also had the tendency to lower inhibitions and make people say things they normally wouldn't, but Draco kept that to himself.

"Right. G'night Malfoy," Potter whispered as he turned away.

"My quarters directly after dinner tomorrow, Potter. Don't be late. I only have a tiny window for altruistic behavior each day and I'd hate for you to miss it," Draco ordered, a subtle grin quirking the edge of his mouth.

A small laugh bubbled up before Potter could stop it and he shook his head wryly. "Noted," he said before he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.


	2. Part II

A/N: Apparently many of you were under the impression that this is a one-shot. My apologies. I marked it as completed because the story itself is complete. I plan to upload a part a day. This is part 2/5.

**Part 2**

Harry felt brilliant the next morning. Better than he'd felt in ages. His hip and back barely hurt at all, and he felt relaxed from the potion-induced sleep he'd had the night before. Slipping out of bed, he stretched experimentally, feeling the muscles work without pain. "It seems there might be some use in the world for Malfoy after all," he muttered to himself, unable to feel any loathing toward the blond when his body felt young and spry once more.

His cheerful mood followed him through breakfast, staring down the line of students all chattering loudly about the Hogsmeade trip today, where they would go, what they would buy, who was going to meet for secret snogs and who was going to be left out. It was a buzz of energy Harry found himself grateful to be distanced from. It hadn't taken Harry long to discover that wound up teenagers were a handful. He was scheduled to chaperone the next Hogsmeade weekend and he felt a twinge of pity for Flitwick and Sprout who had to take the students out this time. Harry hoped that the students were just a little extra excited because it was the first trip and maybe the shine would wear off by the next outing, but he wasn't holding his breath.

Malfoy was at breakfast, too, his usual sneering self, but Harry couldn't help but notice that hint of difference about him. He ignored it as the students began walking as fast as possible to the point where they'd meet their chaperones, leaving the Great Hall filled with sullen first years.

Amongst them was the lonely looking David Creevey. The boy seemed ostracized by the other Gryffindor students and it gave Potter an idea. He got up, strode over, and sat beside the trembling boy.

"How would you like a private flying lesson with me today?" Harry asked boldly. "Just you and me, with none of your classmates watching?"

"R-really, Professor? You'd do that?" David asked with eyes round as saucers, his voice filled with awe.

Harry smiled kindly, amused by the look on the boy's face. "Of course, David. Meet me on the pitch in half an hour, yeah?"

Creevey nodded enthusiastically, his eyes alight with excitement. With a nod, Harry rose from the table and went to change.

"Better! Much better, David," Harry called, as he trailed behind the boy on his broom, ready to dive in and catch him should he fall.

It seemed Harry had been right. David had been so shy, so uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his fellow classmates that he hadn't been able to concentrate and ended up bungling his efforts to fly. Once Harry got him alone and drew him out of his shell, the young Gryffindor had actually shown quite a bit of skill and promise. The first hour was by far the hardest and Harry had been forced to catch him mid-air more than a few times as David overcompensated, lost his control, or got over-enthusiastic.

By the end of the afternoon, David was not only able to stay on his broom, but he'd even tried a few gutsy rolls and dives. Harry beamed at the boy, feeling like a proud father as David did one final dive and dismounted with a wide, excited grin.

"Did you see that, Professor?"

"How could I miss it? You were brilliant! A few more lessons and a bit of practice and you could be trying out for the House team next year," Harry praised, unable to keep himself from chuckling at the boy fairly bouncing in front of him.

"Merlin, you really think so?" David asked, wide-eyed.

"I do, indeed. I think that's enough for today."

"Professor, do you think...that is, would you mind if we practiced again sometime?" David asked shyly, looking up at Harry with hopeful eyes.

"Of course," he replied with a warm smile. The look of joy on David's face was enough to make Harry forget about the vicious stabbing pains that now assaulted him from flying all afternoon.

"Thank you so much, Professor!"

"No problem. Now, you'd better get back inside. You wouldn't want to miss dinner after all that work."

Harry took the broom from the boy with a smile and watched him turn and head eagerly toward the castle, no doubt starving after the long afternoon. After a moment, Harry turned and headed for the equipment shed, his back and hip shrieking with pain. He placed the school broom in its slot and reached a shaking hand into his robes, retrieving his pain potion. Tipping it back, Harry drank the contents, grimacing at the taste and then sighing with relief as the potion took effect. It wasn't as effective as the concoction that Malfoy had given him the night before, but it served to take the edge off.

Taking a deep breath, Harry limped out of the shed, locking and warding the door behind him. He gripped his broom, mounted with a grunt of pain and flew to the doors of the castle. This time, he managed to make it up the stairs before having to stop at the top to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Harry growled and fisted his hands in frustration. He was only twenty-six, for fuck's sake! He should be able to run up and down the stairs a hundred times over simply for a warm up, not keeled over in pain like some ancient wizard who couldn't even walk without a bloody cane.

Harry stood for a moment longer, working hard to push the bitter, useless anger away. Finally, he straightened and began to limp toward his quarters. A long hot shower, a change of clothes and a modest dinner in his sitting room did a world of good for Harry. He was exhausted and his back was still killing him, but at least he was clean and fed and ready to take on Malfoy's snark. Casting a _Tempus_, Harry sighed heavily and levered himself out of the chair. He wobbled a bit, his hip stiff from sitting, before he steadied himself and limped toward the door.

By the time Harry made it to Malfoy's door, he was panting from pain and exertion, sweat glistening on his face. Bracing himself against the door frame, Harry raised a hand to knock on the door. It swung open a second later to reveal a sneering Malfoy.

XXX

"You're late," Draco drawled. he frowned as he noted Potter's heaving chest, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the look of barely suppressed pain in his emerald eyes. "Bloody hell, Potter, what have you been doing?"

Potter glared at him and shoved himself off the door frame, seemingly determined to show as little weakness as possible in front of his rival.

"Nothing, just a little extra flying lesson, that's all. I'm fine," Potter snapped, taking a shaking step into the room. As if to prove him a liar, his hip chose that moment to give out, sending him stumbling into Draco's chest. Without a second thought, Draco wound around Potter's waist like the last time, holding him up even as he scoffed and sneered down at the idiot.

"Fine my arse, you can't even walk, you utter prat. What the fuck were you thinking by flying all bloody afternoon?" Draco demanded, trying his best not to sound like a nagging wife as he helped Potter over to the padded medical table he'd conjured in his sitting room.

"I was helping a student get over his fear of flying." Potter panted. "He wasn't very confident and couldn't fly to save his life before today. By the end he was better on a broom than most of the students in his class."

"Bloody Gryffindors," Draco muttered irritably, insisting to himself that he absolutely did _not _find Potter's look of pride endearing or his actions sweet in any way, shape or form.

Helping Potter onto the edge of the padded table, Draco reached over to take a vial from the small table to his right and thrust it at Potter.

"Drink," he snapped.

Potter glared at Draco, glittering green eyes clashing with cold steel, before he uncorked the potion and drank. Draco could tell Potter was steeling himself for the inevitably rotten taste of healing potion, and took no little amount of pleasure in the look of pleasant surprise that crossed his features as he swallowed. Draco knew that rather than the horrible, gag-inducing taste of the typical healing potion, Potter would be tasting a very mild hint of treacle. For years, Draco had worked to improve the taste of his brews, particularly that of healing potions. He was quite rightfully proud of how far he'd come in that regard.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, I never thought I'd say this, but you're brilliant," he said.

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the praise and, much to his annoyance, he felt his cheeks flush with heat.

"It's about time you realized it, Potter," Draco said, forcing a haughty smirk.

Potter rolled his eyes in exasperation and slid off of the table.

"Right, well, thanks, Malfoy," he said, turning toward the door.

"Not so fast, Potter. There's still the salve," Draco announced as he lifted a ceramic pot from the small table.

"Huh?"

"The healing salve I've brewed will compliment the potion and help it last longer," Draco explained. "I daresay this is the most important part if you're going to continue being a Quidditch hero."

"Oh, right, okay," Potter answered with a small frown as he reached for the salve.

Draco held the jar purposefully out of reach and shook his head, determined to have a little fun at Potter's expense. It served him right after all. While Draco had been working tirelessly to create a potion that would temporarily regenerate Potter's musculature, the Gryffindor twat had been out exacerbating his injuries by flying when he should have been resting. A sly grin worked over his features as he took in Potter's suddenly fearful gaze. "Trousers off, Potter," he purred, making the words sound more seductive than he'd intended.

The effect was quite nice, however, as Potter's emerald eyes seemed to grow impossibly wide. Draco feared momentarily that they might just pop clear out of his head, but it was too amusing to linger on bad consequences too long. "I-I…you…what?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, do get a grip, Potter. I'm not going to molest you. I'm a professional, remember?"

XXX

With narrowed eyes, Harry shifted uncomfortably, grasping at whatever straws he could. "How do I know you haven't poisoned the salve?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me such an asinine question. Now, disrobe and lay on your stomach. I assure you I'll find just as little pleasure touching your bare flesh," he commented with a sneer, tapping his nails against the jar in a frustrated rhythm while Harry continued to squirm. "Today, Potter. I do have other things to do than attend to your needs."

"Fine," Harry ground out bitterly, steeling his resolve as he unbuckled and shoved his trousers down in one fell swoop, exposing his clingy red boxers.

"I should have known," Malfoy commented with a smirk, gesturing to the silky crimson fabric.

"Just shut up and let's get this over with," Harry bit out as he climbed onto the table and purposely turned away from Malfoy as it heated with embarrassment.

"As you wish," Malfoy chuckled, bowing dramatically before sliding the boxers down enough to give his attention to the afflicted areas. Harry heard him unscrew the lid and braced himself for the imminent chill of the salve, only to be surprised when the salve felt warm against his lower back. As Malfoy's fingers massaged the aching muscles, Harry felt himself growing hot, and not just because of the ointment's temperature.

His lips let out a soft moan without his permission as those lithe fingers kneaded his hip, dipping lower to massage the outer portion of Harry's thigh. The effect was instantaneous. All lingering soreness dissipated the moment the salve was worked into his flesh, and Harry soon found himself in another uncomfortable position.

"Gods, Draco," he murmured incoherently, his eyes falling closed at the feel of Malfoy's hands caressing him so intimately. An image of those hands drifting lower, wrapping around a different aching flesh sent blood pooling to his groin and his hips bucked forward instinctively as he bit back a moan of desire.

Eyes flaring wide, Harry glanced up to find Malfoy's attention riveted to his task, a look of stoic indifference on his pale features. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sight. Had Malfoy heard or seen the reason for Harry's flushed cheeks, the Slytherin would surely be taunting him over it by now. He cleared his throat, drawing Malfoy's gaze to his mouth briefly, and then up to his eyes.

"Erm, I think it's worked," Harry said abruptly. "Thanks." He shifted slowly off the table as Malfoy's fingers fell away, his face a bit paler than usual, but giving no signs that he'd noticed Harry's reaction to his attentions. He quickly hopped down from the padded table, using it to mask his erection as he slid back into his trousers, carefully holding his robes closed over his groin.

"It's my job," Malfoy commented with a negligent wave of his hand, dismissing the gratitude outright.

Harry found himself mildly disappointed that Malfoy hadn't been similarly affected by their encounter, but quickly squashed that feeling with a huff. "All the same, it feels loads better already. So, thanks."

"I expect you to rest properly tomorrow. If you don't overexert yourself, the potion and salve should last a week. If you start feeling any peculiar side effects, come and see me at once. The potion may take a bit of tweaking still before it's perfected for continuous use," Malfoy spouted, sounding every bit like a medical advert in the Daily Prophet.

"Side effects like what?" Harry asked warily.

Malfoy shrugged with elegant grace and turned away to transfigure the table back into the tufted leather armchair it had been before Harry arrived. "I couldn't begin to hypothesize at the moment. Just let me know if you start to feel different. Even something small and seemingly insignificant. Even if you think it might not have anything to do with the potion. Let me know right away, understood?"

Harry nodded, swallowing as he imagined growing extra limbs or some other horrid mutation, but his straining cock pressed tightly against the inside of his trousers dispelled all nonsensical thoughts and he nodded curtly, angling toward the door. "I'll let you know, whatever it is," he conceded and left Malfoy's quarters in a hurry.

He was so focused on getting to his room and relieving some of the pressure building within him that it wasn't until he'd reached the painting of Sir Cadagon and wracked his brain for the password that he realized his peculiar reaction to Malfoy's touch might be one of the side effects the prat had mentioned. But how in Merlin's name was he supposed to bring it up? If it was a side effect, he certainly wanted it to go away, but what was he supposed to do? Just waltz up to Malfoy and mention that his massage had turned him on so much that he'd had to run back to his quarters and wank? And then have to hear about it for the rest of his life? Absolutely not.

Another thought struck him as finally remembered the password and stalked into his rooms, quickly divesting himself of his robes before slipping into bed. Had Malfoy done this to him on purpose? It seemed like a Slytherin-worthy prank to give Harry a potion that would arouse him at the touch of another man. And would it work for anyone, or just Malfoy?

His hand was already gripping his erection forcefully at the thought, stroking angrily at the image of Malfoy's smirking lips taunting him for his affliction. He'd teach that bastard not to mess with Harry Potter, he thought as he continued to stroke. He'd have to keep up a strong façade around the Slytherin and not let on that he was so turned on by such a simple touch.

With his resolve strengthened, Harry felt the pressure build to bursting inside of him, and the simple fantasy of Malfoy's long, deft fingers stroking him instead had him coming with a shout.

XXX

Draco watched Potter leave, making sure to keep his carefully constructed facade of indifference. The moment the door closed behind the brunet, his stoic mask was replaced by a look of frustrated want. No doubt Potter thought he hadn't noticed his visceral reaction to Draco's touch, but he had noticed _everything_. He now stood in his sitting room hard and aching and utterly confused.

With a huff of irritation, Draco dropped gracefully into the newly transfigured chair, a petulant pout on his face. He had been trying so hard to ignore the attraction that he felt for the prat - to bury this ridiculous crush he'd harboured for longer than he cared to admit – and in less than one hour, Potter had utterly devastated all of his best efforts. Stupid bloody Potter and his stupid fucking reactions.

_Gods, Draco_.

The blond shuddered at the memory of Potter moaning his name, his arse clenching as his hips shifted into the padded mattress. Draco's cock twitched violently, the fabric of his trousers biting cruelly into the throbbing flesh. Giving in to his body's unrelenting desire with an annoyed sigh, Draco freed his erection and began to wank. It took less than a dozen strokes to have him arching off the chair with a muted cry of, "Harry!"

It might have been less humiliating if this had been the first time he'd ever pleasured himself over Potter's image, but Draco had wanted him long before his wanton display tonight. Unfortunately, Potter's reaction to his touch had only served to frustrate and confuse him beyond the point that any masturbatory act could relieve.

Retrieving his wand, Draco cast a cleaning spell and tucked himself away, glaring fiercely at the fireplace as his mind reeled with questions. What did Potter's reaction mean? Did he enjoy Draco's touch alone, or would he react that way for any man? Was he even gay? It could have easily been the sensual nature of the massage, or effects from the potion. Did he think of Draco as anything other than a childhood rival? And if he didn't, could he?

Draco knew it was ridiculous to think that Potter might actually fancy him, but his body had reacted and now it was tormenting him. He had to know for certain if he had even the slightest chance to possess Potter the way he had wanted to for the past ten years. The problem was that Draco knew the ex-Gryffindor would never willingly answer the personal questions that he so desperately wanted answered. Potter was much too stubborn and prideful to ever admit attraction to the man who had tormented him throughout school, regardless of how much Draco had changed. How the bloody hell was he supposed to get Potter to give him the affirmation he sought?

"Come on, Draco, you're a Slytherin. Think like one," he muttered to himself. He cast around for ideas until finally, the solution jumped to the forefront of his mind.

Veritaserum.

Draco would slip it into Potter's pain potion and then he would have the undisputed truth. If Potter was honestly not interested in him, Draco could finally steel himself to move on with his life, perhaps find the pureblood woman his father so desperately wanted him to marry. However, if Potter was attracted to him…well, Draco dared not think about that just yet.

The raven-haired man would be furious with him afterward, to be sure, but Draco figured it was no more than Potter deserved for making it bloody well impossible to ignore him.

With a firm nod and a devious smirk, Draco rose from the comfort of his chair and headed for his bedroom. He stripped down to his skin and slipped between the silk sheets of his bed, a sigh of contentment washing over him. Draco would bide his time, watching Potter's behaviour around him closely until their next meeting. In a week's – possibly less, given Potter's thick-headed insistence to over-work himself – he would finally know the truth. After ten years of wanting, a week didn't seem very long at all.


	3. Part III

**Part 3**

"Very good, David, you're getting the hang of it now," Harry called from his position on the ground.

It was Saturday afternoon and he was instructing David Creevey from the safety of the pitch rather than in the air on his broom. Harry was doing anything and everything he could to avoid having to meet with Malfoy for another "session" before he absolutely had to.

He hadn't been able to get the blond out of his head all week and not only was he wanking an average of three times a day to thoughts of him, but Harry found himself watching Malfoy more and more each moment. In the halls when they passed each other, at dinner from the corner of his eye, and even during the weekly staff meeting. Harry just couldn't seem to help himself.

With each passing day, he became more and more convinced that Malfoy had done something to the potion he'd taken. There was no other possible explanation for why Harry couldn't get the blond git out of his head. No other reason that a mere thought or memory of Malfoy would, in moments, have him have him harder than he'd ever been in his life. There was no other viable scenario that would lead to him looking at Malfoy and thinking of him as beautiful. The many times he'd caught the prat smirking at him only served to reinforce his suspicion of foul play.

Despite Harry's growing anger at the idea of having been tricked into wanting Malfoy, he couldn't deny that the potion had worked wonders for his injury. For the first time in over six months, he had woken without pain or stiffness in his hip. Obviously something about the potion and salve had worked, and Harry found himself reluctant to give up the blessed freedom that Malfoy's remedy had given him.

So, rather than confronting the blond – and likely humiliating himself with confessions of his bodily reaction, potion-induced or not - Harry had done everything he possibly could to avoid exacerbating the injury. He had stayed on the ground as much as possible, only mounting his broom when he absolutely had to. The week had been blessedly slow. He'd only had to rescue a few students in mid-air and Harry had only just started feeling pain again this morning.

David was making remarkable progress and though it was only his second private lesson, he seemed more eager than ever to learn. The young Gryffindor hadn't fallen from his broom once during this lesson and had begun trying to perfect a few basic dives and turns.

"Professor Potter, Sir," David called suddenly, hovering near Harry's side. "Um, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind teaching me the Wronski Feint?"

Harry hesitated, knowing that the move would certainly aggravate his hip. Then again, he'd behaved himself all week and he was itching to be in the air. The look of barely hidden excitement on little David Creevey's face was enough to make up his mind. Reasoning that he had to see Draco in a few hours anyway, Harry grinned, mounted his broom and shot into the air. He spent the next hour teaching David the basics of the manoeuver and explaining the theory.

Harry performed the feint a few times to demonstrate, his heart leaping into his chest as he plummeted toward the ground, pulling up at the very last minute. The wind whistled through his hair and, despite the now-throbbing pain in his muscles, Harry felt more content than he had in months. He well and truly missed flying no-holds-barred. The rush of it. The intimacy. It killed him to know he would never truly be able to fly the way he wanted to for any long period of time. At least not without excruciating pain and a risk of injuring himself to the point of _never_ being able to ride a broom again.

"That was amazing!" David cried, his awed voice cutting through Harry's melancholic reverie.

Shaking his head to clear the last of the discontent from his mind, he turned in the air and regarded David with a smile.

"It's a brilliant manoeuver and quite a rush, but it's _very_ dangerous. I want you to promise me you won't try it until I say you're ready to, okay?"

David nodded emphatically. "I promise, Professor."

"Good lad. That's it for today. Go ahead and put your broom back if you please," Harry instructed. "I'll walk you back to the castle."

The boy did as he was told and the two made their way across the well-tended lawns of Hogwarts. They parted ways at the Great Hall; David scampered off to the Gryffindor table as Harry limped to the Head table. Pointedly ignoring the death glare directed at him by Malfoy, he filled his plate and tucked into a hearty dinner. Harry knew he'd get a tongue lashing from the blond the minute they were alone, and Merlin knew he would need all the strength he could get.

XXX

The potion was already nestled comfortably in Draco's pocket when Potter knocked on his chamber door. Only minutes before, he'd tipped three drops of Veritaserum into the vial and swirled it so that the potion would appear unchanged.

The moment he opened the door, the very feel of the room seemed to change around him. Potter stood there looking hesitant to move further than the threshold, and though his body looked nearly as broken as it had been last week, his resolve seemed stronger. But underneath of all the distraction was the scent of desire, and Draco didn't think it was all coming from him this time.

He even gave momentary pause enough to wonder if he needed the Veritaserum at all, but quickly reasoned that he wouldn't have an endless sea of chances. "Potter," he greeted somewhat coldly. "Are you going to stand in the hall all evening or are you going to come in?"

Potter wet his lips, a movement that shouldn't ever look so sensual, and shrugged lightly. "I might stay right here."

"Suit yourself," Draco replied with a shrug and moved further into the room, taking a seat by the fire. Eventually whatever war that was waging inside of Potter seemed to come to a conclusion and he strode forward to sit in the chair across from Draco. "Your potion," he said curtly and handed over the vial in his pocket.

Potter drank it without a second thought and Draco wondered briefly if Potter was a fool or if he had somehow done something to earn his trust. He couldn't imagine a sixteen year old Harry Potter drinking anything that Draco offered him.

The moment Potter finished swallowing, he was up and striding back to the door, which Draco only just now noticed had never been completely closed, as if the Gryffindor wanted an escape route.

"Potter," he called, holding up the salve. He gestured to the medical table he'd arranged for again.

"Right." Potter sighed. It was fairly obvious to Draco at this point that he wasn't a welcome sight.

"I'll be quick about it," Draco murmured bitterly. "Disrobe, please." He didn't know if it was the plea or the disgruntled tone, but Potter flinched and obeyed, situating himself on the table.

"How was work this week?" Draco asked conversationally, easing into the questions.

Potter's body tensed at the question, but he answered. He had to after all. "Boring, actually."

"Boring?" Draco asked as he dipped his fingers into the salve and slowly spread it along Potter's hip. "I would think that getting to fly and teach Quidditch all day would be far more exciting than being Potions Master."

"I won't argue with you there," he replied with a snort. "But I just can't fly like I used to. Even when I'm in the air I'm constantly worried that I'm only furthering my injuries. I used to feel free as a bird in the air. Now I'm weighed down by my own bad fortune."

The passion in Potter's voice, the woeful sadness tugged at something deep within Draco that, for once, wasn't his libido. "Perhaps I could… nevermind," he muttered, brushing the thought away. He wasn't under Veritaserum, so he certainly wasn't required to spout off whatever came to mind.

Thankfully, Potter seemed too lost in the rich massaging of Draco's hands to notice that he had started to speak and then stopped himself. Another low, raspy moan left Potter's lips and this time Draco allowed himself to react.

"Do you like men, Potter?" he asked suddenly, the question sounding much more blunt than he'd intended.

Potter froze, obviously trying to fight the effects of the truth serum. "I…don't know."

Well, that was one point in the Yes category and one in the No it seemed. Feeling Potter's body tense beneath his palms, Draco forced himself to back off a bit. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him off before he'd even had a chance to as his questions. Regaining some of his Slytherin finesse and cunning, he decided to change his tactics.

"I see," Draco responded, humming lightly as he increased the pressure on Potter's lower back and drew his hands in a soothing circle. "How about that? Do you like that?"

"Mm, yes," Potter moaned softly, the tension slowly draining from his body as clever, Slytherin hands worked at his muscles. Draco's hands lowered to massage the top of his buttock, kneading languidly.

"And this?"

"Umhm," came the answer, muffled as his head slumped against the table.

His heart racing, Draco slipped his hand down and under to wrap long, slender fingers around Potter's impressive erection. A delicious shiver went through him at the wanton moan Potter let loose. Emboldened by the noise, Draco used his other hand to turn him over, his eyes meeting lust-fogged green.

"And this? Does this feel good, Harry?" he purred, his voice deep with want as his hand gave Potter's cock a long, firm stroke.

"_Yes_," Potter hissed, arching into the touch as his hands fisted at his side.

Draco bit back a moan of his own as he began to stroke Potter's length in earnest, his own cock throbbing painfully in his trousers. He soaked in the sight and sounds of Potter writhing beneath him, stunted words and pleas falling from those perfect lips as he neared completion at Draco's hand. He watched intently as Potter came completely undone, calling out Draco's name as he came hard and fast. Draco's cock pulsed in his trousers; once, twice before he followed him over the edge, completely unaided by touch.

The room was silent save for the combined panting breaths of the two men. They stared at each other through hooded eyes for a few long moments before Draco moved, bringing his hand to his mouth to taste Potter's essence. Emerald eyes widened at the action, Potter's breath hitching as he watched Draco's tongue flick out to lap at one digit. The action seemed to snap him out of the post-coital daze that had entrenched him and Potter's look of sated bliss melted into one of confusion and disbelief.

In one smooth movement – one that would have been impossible not an hour before – Potter rolled off of the cot to stand on the far side and pulled on his trousers with jerky, rushed movements. Potter's abrupt mood change brought Draco back to himself and he watched with something akin to disappointment as Potter hurried to leave.

"Harry."

Potter shook his head violently and headed for the door, only to have his arm caught by Draco before he could escape. He was determined to ask the one question he wanted answered most.

"How do you feel about me?"

Potter's eyes widened and his mouth opened, the Veritaserum compelling him to answer, before he forced it shut, his jaw clenching with the effort. He watched as Potter fought the potion, a look of fury in his gaze. Draco had a moment to think to himself that he should have considered that Potter was the only person he knew who could successfully fight off the Imperious Curse before he dosed him with Veritaserum, and then Potter was wrenching his arm away from him and stalking out the door, slamming the portal behind him with violent force.

Draco slumped against the wood of the door and resisted the urge to bang his head repeatedly against it. Malfoys did not allow their emotions to take over their self control. He'd had Potter right where he'd wanted him and yet he still managed to find out very little. He had gleaned from his bodily reaction that Harry was at least not adverse to the idea of wanting a man, but he still didn't know if the Gryffindor wanted _him_. The fact was, Potter could have easily had the same reaction to anyone who touched him. Draco shook that thought away. No. It was clear enough that Potter was attracted to him, perhaps had even liked him before he'd royally messed up and dosed him with Veritaserum. Now, he'd be lucky to survive the confrontation he knew was coming the moment the potion wore off.

_Fuck him._

Harry had been repeating that very mantra all week long, and though it occasionally varied from its usual dark venomous hiss to vivid images of Malfoy naked, sweaty and beautiful below him, it was still a persistent chiming in his mind. It made it very hard to concentrate on his classes, or his meals and it made it extremely difficult to sleep without dreaming of pale blond hair and even paler skin tangled with his own.

It wasn't fair and it wasn't right.

Here he was, minding his own damned business and then Malfoy had to sideswipe him with emotions he'd never thought he'd feel. He had always thought that he'd loved Ginny, but she had never set his veins on fire the way Malfoy did. Even as angry as he was over being deceived, he still felt such a pull toward the blond that he couldn't stand to be in the same room with him because he knew that any silky lie the blond told would bowl him over.

Yes, Harry liked him. More than he should. And deep down, he recognized that it had nothing to do with the healing potion or anything else he could reasonably blame on the sneaky Slytherin. But that didn't mean he had to admit his attraction. Besides, though it was clear the blond wanted something from him, it wasn't entirely obvious what the something was. This was his home now, and he had no intention of making things awkward and uncomfortable for himself by entering into a romantic entanglement with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Harry refused to give in, which meant avoiding the Slytherin at all costs, which unfortunately, meant avoiding his brilliant remedy as well. After that last session, although he was horribly confused, his body felt young and spry again. It was all he could do not to give in and visit Malfoy again just for his healing potion, but he knew that it would lead to healing hands, healing words and then soon enough he'd be flat on his back at Malfoy's mercy once again.

Pain shot through his body at the thought of another day of avoidance. How long would this last? If he showed up now, having blown off his last meeting would Malfoy even give him the remedy? He supposed he could have McGonagall order Malfoy to supply it just as Dumbledore had ordered Snape to brew Lupin's Wolfbane, but Harry would rather things be amicable between him and his fellow staff members, and as much as he hated to admit it, Draco Malfoy was counted amongst that group.

He'd been too hard on his body over the past week, taking it to the edges of pain as he demonstrated new and dangerous flight patterns to both his classes and David after hours. It was the only thing he could think of to keep his mind off of the blond that always seemed to lurk at the back of his thoughts. David certainly didn't seem to care that Harry was spending so much time with him, and by Sunday afternoon, the boy was like a completely different person in the air.

"So, do you think it's time for you to show your classmates what you've been practicing?" Harry called up to the boy as he began his descent.

David looked just as nervous as that first day, and suddenly Harry realized that Creevey still needed to work on his confidence in front of others. He might be comfortable with Harry, but that didn't mean he was ready to be a Quidditch star just yet. David's broom wavered at his words and Harry felt a moment of panic. In seconds he was shoving off the ground and at David's side, just in time to catch him as he fell.

The weight of Creevey coupled with the pain in his hip was just too much. The broom plummeted toward the ground with only enough time for Harry to cast a rudimentary Cushioning Charm below them.

It wasn't enough. Harry watched the ground grow closer as he braced himself for impact. Violent bursts of light erupted in front of his vision as his injured hip slammed painfully into the slightly softened ground, David on top of him. He had the forethought to check on his student, make sure the boy's eyes were still open and focused before his own slid shut and darkness overtook him.


	4. Part IV

**Part 4**

"How long has he been like this?" Draco demanded, uncaring that the little Creevey boy looked as though he was about to wet himself from fear. He'd been on his way to the pitch to confront Potter about his stubborn attitude when the quivering student had run toward him, filthy and stammering about Potter.

He'd rushed after the boy to find Potter lying prone on the ground, breathing, but not moving. His hip was jutting at an awkward angle and Draco couldn't help but wince. All that work and Potter was worse off now than he had been when he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

"Um, just a few minutes, Professor," Creevey squeaked out.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking like an idiot! Go and fetch the medi-witch. Tell her I've moved Potter into my private rooms," he demanded, shooing the boy away.

After the frightened student ran off, Draco sank to his knees beside Potter, gently coaxing his body into a more comfortable position as he shook his head in dismay. "Stubborn arse," he muttered as he placed Levitation Charms around Potter's form and began the long trek to his quarters. He would have liked to carry him, to feel Potter's heat and weight against his body, but not only did he not need that particular distraction right that moment, he also didn't want to exacerbate Potter's injuries further with the jostling that would create.

Once Potter was settled in a bed of fine silks and fluffy pillows, Draco moved the chair from his sitting area to Potter's bedside, staring down at the unconscious man as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to arrive.

Harry woke to a series of vicious stabbing pains that started in his hip and travelled up his spine, stealing his breath away. His eyes snapped open as a gasping moan of pain escaped him. Instinctively, he tried to move, only to have a hand push him back down.

"Stay still, Potter, you bloody imbecile," growled a familiar voice.

"Malfoy, what...?" Harry croaked. He barely had a chance to register the fact that he was in an unfamiliar room before Madam Pomfrey bustled in. The old medi-witch took one look at the state of him and shook her head with a series of tuts.

"What did I say to you about taking things easy, Mr. Potter? It seems things haven't changed much since you were a boy; always pushing the limits of your body," she scolded as she performed a series of diagnostic spells. "Oh dear." She sighed, shaking her head as she walked over to the other side of the bed and started organizing her things.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked with a wince of pain.

"You've fractured your hip and pulled a few ligaments," she informed them with a stern glare. "I can heal it, of course, but it will be extremely painful and recovery will be of the utmost importance."

"W-will I be able to fly?"

"Absolutely not!" she chastised. "Did you not hear a word I've just said?"

"I believe Harry was asking if he'd be well enough to fly after his imposed bed rest and recovery," Malfoy interjected, a look of understanding on his face as his eyes met Harry's.

Madam Pomfrey's expression softened. "Yes, Harry. So long as you follow my instructions exactly, you'll fly again," she elaborated.

Harry sighed at the prognosis. His newest injury was bad and it bloody well hurt, but it could have been so much worse. He was well used to pain by now and he'd suffer as much as he had to, do whatever it took, so long as it meant he could fly again. Ignoring Malfoy's presence, and the sudden realization that he was in the blond's bed, Harry dutifully drank down every potion Madam Pomfrey administered.

"Amazing," the medi-witch mused softly as she recast her diagnostic spells, "You're healing much more smoothly than one would've expected given the extent of your injuries. Tell me, have you been seeing a new Healer for your original injury?" she asked, open curiosity in her gaze.

Harry's eyes flashed to Malfoy and held for a moment, a blush stealing over his cheeks against his will. "Not a Healer, no, but I've tried a few new things, yes."

"Indeed? Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. It seems this new remedy has ensured your ability to fly again. Without it, I doubt you'd regain the ability to walk without a cane for the rest of your life. As it is, you'll need a week of bed rest, potions and physical therapy before you can even _think_ of so much as _touching_ a broom."

The knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks. Malfoy's remedy had saved him from losing the one thing that brought him true joy. A surge of gratitude went through him, quickly followed by irritation. If the bloody wanker hadn't drugged him in the first place, he wouldn't have skipped his treatment and likely could have avoided the accident altogether. It was Malfoy's fault he was in this bed. In _Malfoy's_ bed. He paused at the thought, a shiver going through him.

"Madam Pomfrey, may I please be moved to my own quarters, or even the hospital wing?" Harry asked. "I think I'd be much more comfortable."

"I'm afraid not, Harry. The last thing we want to do is move you when your body is mending."

"But surely with magic..." he protested, his voice sounding a tad desperate.

"Magic will react adversely to the potions I've given you. I'm sure you'll be perfectly fine here for a few days," Pomfrey replied, her tone firm.

Harry turned to his only ally.

"Come on, Malfoy, you don't want to have to put up with me for _days_, do you?"

"You heard her, Potter. It can't be helped," he replied, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"There now. It's all settled. I'll be back to check on you in the morning. Until then, Mr. Malfoy, if you could see that he takes the appropriate potions?"

XXX

Draco nodded as Madam Pomfrey rattled off the details of the potions Potter needed to take, with Potter's protests going completely unheeded. After a moment, Madam Pomfrey bid goodnight to a sulking Potter and swept from the room, leaving the two men alone in a stifling, tension-filled silence.

"You really are an idiot, Potter. If you had just come for your treatment last week, this wouldn't have happened," Draco chided, filling the silence with his arrogantly derisive tone.

"Well, perhaps if you hadn't _drugged _and _molested_ me the last time, I would have!" Potter growled, his narrowed eyes burning with anger as he glared at Draco.

"I only did that because I knew you'd never answer my questions on your own."

"Oh, well then, I guess that makes it okay," he replied sarcastically.

Draco glared, but didn't respond. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make the stubborn Gryffindor listen to reason. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, looming over Harry, his hand moving of its own accord to brush a strand of sweaty hair away from his brow.

After a long, dramatic silence, Draco sighed and said two words he hadn't said in a long, long time. "I'm sorry."

Potter blinked up at him, obviously just as surprised to hear those words as Draco was. "Pardon?" he asked, as if trying to make sure one of the potions hadn't made him dream up unlikely responses.

"It was wrong to lace your potion with Veritaserum. I should have, at the very least, given you the opportunity to answer my questions first," Draco elaborated.

"What, and _then_ drugged me?" Potter asked, his tone incredulous.

"Perhaps," Draco remarked with a wry grin and an elegant shrug. "You could hardly blame me if I'd asked and you'd refused."

"I could blame you, actually," Potter countered with a scowl that lacked any real venom. "I'm quite good at blaming you for things," he added, his frown slipping into a barely-perceptible smile.

"I've noticed. Although I think I'm only accountable for a third of what you blame me for," Draco replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh?" Potter asked, his smile growing. "Which third are you accepting blame for?"

"It was merely theoretical," Draco explained with a wave of his hand. "I don't care to get into the particulars." Potter laughed at his answer and then winced as the motion jostled his injury.

"Alright. No laughing for the gimped," Draco chided, tucking the sheets tighter around the Gryffindor's body. He leaned over to click the light off and once again let his finger tips trail over Potter's forehead. "You should get some sleep. I'll still be here to provide snarky remarks in the morning."

"Where are you going?" Potter asked. Draco marvelled in the look of disappointment etched on Potter's face at the mention of him leaving. Not five minutes ago, he'd seemed ready to throttle Draco and now he didn't seem to want to let him go.

It must have been the potions kicking in.

"I'll be in the next room if you need me," Draco assured him. "I can Transfigure a perfectly suitable bed from my chaise."

"Right," Potter sighed, his eyelids beginning to droop with the weight of the potion. As Draco rose and strode toward the door, Potter called after him. "Draco?"

Draco turned his head, thoughtfully regarding the Gryffindor tucked firmly in his bed. "Hm?"

"Thanks," Potter whispered, glancing away for a moment before bravely regaining his lock on Draco's stormy gray eyes.

Draco only nodded lightly in return, a faint pink colouring his cheeks. "Just yell if you need anything, Harry," Draco said as his long, pale fingers twisted the doorknob. "I'm sure you're uncouth enough for that," he added with a wink and a smirk as he disappeared into the other room and out of Harry's sight.

"Prat," came the soft reply.

Draco smiled and closed the door. He stood just outside of his bedchamber for a long moment before he shook his head and headed for his lab. He had work to do.

Harry sat up in Draco's bed as he finished the last of his afternoon tea. It was his fourth day of bed-rest and truth be told, he was going more than a little stir crazy. He'd been driving Draco and himself round the bend after the first day. Harry had never been a very good patient and the blond was having a terrible time of keeping him from trying to get out of bed before he was healed enough to.

In an apparent effort to help speed the healing process – and save what little was left of both of their sanity – Draco had started giving Harry daily massages with the salve. Given the severity of Harry's new injury, the salve wasn't able to work as quickly, but it still helped to soothe his aches and aided in the mending of ligaments. Coupled with Pompfrey's medicines, Harry was certain he'd be up and walking again any day now. In fact, he was positive he could walk _now_ if only he could escape the bed he was currently lying in. Unfortunately, after Harry's last attempt to get out of bed – resulting in another near-crippling fall for Harry and a rather nasty lump on Draco's head where he'd hit the wall as he'd caught Harry – Draco had recruited Dobby to watch Harry throughout the day when he was in classes and the house-elf had gone to great lengths to ensure that his orders were adhered to.

Harry had voiced his opinion of Draco's new "minion" readily but Draco simply shrugged it off with a haughty look and a sneer.

"If you insist on acting like a child, then you'll have a babysitter to watch you as such."

With that, Malfoy had swept from the room, leaving a furiously seething Harry behind.

In hindsight, Harry had to admit that it was probably for the best, but he still hated to feel so trapped. Hated how easily Draco Malfoy had taken over his life. Though, if he were entirely honest with himself, he would admit that sniping with the blond had become the highlight of his days. Despite the constant snark, Harry found himself liking the blond more and more. Certainly the now-daily massages didn't hurt matters; after all, Malfoy had very talented hands, but it was more than that. Draco's usual acerbic attitude toward him made the times when he treated Harry with kindness and care all the more special to him.

Come to think of it, even Malfoy's usual snark had lost most of its bite. When they argued now, it was something akin to friendly banter rather than harsh words tainted with the bitter cruelty of a childhood rivalry. Even when Draco was being a prat, his actions spoke volumes more than his words. He had worked tirelessly making Harry's potions and salves, not to mention taking it upon himself to treat his injury. And even if the blond had practically chained him to the bed, he'd still given up his own bed and comfort for Harry's own good. Draco Malfoy had been taking care of him.

Over the past few days Harry had begun to realize that not only did he no longer dislike Draco, but he was growing rather fond of him. Perhaps _too_ fond.

As if conjured by Harry's thoughts, Malfoy swept into the room and lifted an imperious brow.

"Merlin, Potter, still abed at this hour. I always knew you were a lazy sod," he drawled with a smirk, his words containing only the slightest bit of bite.

"And whose fault is that, arsehat?" Harry asked with an unimpressed look on his face as he tilted head pointedly toward Dobby as the house-elf gathered the remnants of Harry's tea service.

Draco's smirk widened into a look of self-satisfaction as Dobby rushed to assure him that he had indeed kept the Great and Noble Harry Potter in his bed all day just as he was instructed. He had done everything necessary to keep Harry Potter from injuring himself.

"Including erecting a damned force field around the bed," Harry muttered bitterly.

"Very good, Dobby, you did well. You may leave now," Draco instructed, turning to Harry as the house-elf disappeared with a loud crack.

"Would you like your massage before or after dinner?"

"How about after I get out of this bloody bed?" Harry suggested pointedly, tossing the covers off of his legs and scooting toward the end of the mattress.

"There's nothing wrong with that bed, I had it brought over from the Manor. The quality is impeccable," Draco insisted as he strode to Harry's side to put a hand on his shoulder, effectively stilling his movements.

"For fuck's sake, let me up already."

"It's only been a few days, Potter. You heard what Pomfrey said. It'll be a week before you can even attempt to walk," he said as he struggled to keep Harry in the bed.

"And with the treatments you've been giving me, I've been healing much faster than she could have predicted. You know I'm strong enough to do this," Harry insisted, struggling fruitlessly. Stilling his efforts with a heavy sigh, Harry gripped Malfoy's wrist and looked up at him, his expression pleading. "Please, Draco."

Draco scowled down at Harry, annoyance clearly etched on his face. Harry simply stared back, his thumb absently rubbing soothing circles on the soft skin of the underside of Draco's wrist.

"Fine. With my help," Malfoy conceded, looking none-too-pleased.

Harry fought the urge to whoop with joy and swung his legs gently over the side of the bed. Draco stooped and wrapped a strong, muscled arm around Harry's waist, moving Harry's own arm around his neck for balance.

"Ready?" Draco asked before helping him stand in one swift motion.

There was a slight twinge of pain, but it passed without much notice. Harry was too busy dwelling on just how closely Draco was holding him. His face was mere inches away from the blond's, his body pressed along the length of Draco's. The arm wrapped around his waist flexed once, pressing Harry closer, causing his heart to flutter and his breath to hitch.

"You all right, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his silver eyes searching Harry's face.

The concern on his face had Harry's heart doing another flip.

"Yeah," he breathed, sending the blond a shaky smile. "Brilliant."

Draco nodded reluctantly and tightened his grip on Harry's waist. "All right, then. Let's get this over with. Tell me when you need to stop."

They made it around Draco's quarters twice before Harry's hip gave out and sent him stumbling into Draco. The movement had Harry's face burying itself in the soft skin of Draco's neck as he clung tighter to the blond for support. Rather than stepping away as he should have done, Harry lingered in the impromptu embrace, his eye sliding shut as he breathed in Draco's intoxicating scent. Without thinking, Harry pressed closer and nuzzled the blond's neck with his nose, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping him as his lips brushed the warm flesh.

"Potter..." Draco murmured, his voice curiously unsteady.

Harry pulled back just enough to look at him, emerald eyes searching confused grey, though for what, he didn't know. There, laced with the curiosity, was a hint of something Harry couldn't quite name. Acting on impulse, Harry leaned in and captured Draco's lips with his own.

That first, light taste of Malfoy's perfect lips had Harry's heart racing and a soft moan escaping him. He pressed closer, moulding his lip more firmly against the blond's as his hands fisted in Malfoy's robes. After a few moments, Harry realized something was wrong. Malfoy wasn't kissing him back. The sudden realization hit him like a bucket of ice water and he pulled back abruptly, a violent blush heating his face.

"I'm sorry. I...um..." Harry stammered, running a shaky hand through his hair as he looked look everywhere but at the man in front of him.

"We should get you back into bed," came the reply.

Harry glanced up at the blond's carefully neutral expression and nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest at Malfoy's lack of response to his moment of foolishness. Reaffirming his grip on Malfoy's shoulder, Harry allowed himself to be led back to the bed.

Dinner arrived just after Harry had taken his pain potion and settled beneath the duvet. Neither of them said a word about Harry's misstep as they set about the now-familiar routine of eating together. They spoke haltingly about Draco's day; his student's, the potions he was teaching and the surprising talent of Neville Longbottom's cousin.

The conversation was somewhat strained, but Harry was grateful for the attempt at normalcy. He chuckled inwardly at the thought. Who would have thought he'd have ever considered having dinner in bed with Draco Malfoy _normal_? Once the meal was finished and the dishes vanished, Harry shifted and let out a groan of pain.

"You must be sore after that exertion. Take off your shirt and roll over," Draco ordered as he pulled the jar of salve from the bedside locker.

Harry did as he was bade, turning his still-flaming face away from the blond as he heard the jar being opened. As usual, the moment Draco's hands touched him, Harry's skin tingled and he had to bite back a moan. Elegant fingers worked his muscles with practiced ease, soothing the ache and feeding his growing arousal. He'd long-since stopped trying to resist the reaction his body had whenever Malfoy touched him like this. It never worked anyways. Instead, Harry distracted himself with talk.

"So you had a good day, then."

"It was agreeable," Draco answered, his hands never faltering in their movements.

"That's good. You'll sleep well tonight," Harry said awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

"As well as can be expected." The words _'considering you've taken over my bed'_ went unsaid.

"Sorry about that. You must be sick of sleeping on a Transfigured sofa every night."

"It's certainly not my first choice," Draco replied.

A shard of guilt grew within Harry. "Well, now that I can walk without risking permanent injury, maybe I should go back to my own quarters."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," Draco scoffed. Harry could tell by the tone of his voice that the blond was rolling his eyes at him. "If you did that, you'd just be making my job harder by forcing me to come to you every night. It's fine. Besides, I've slept on worse."

Harry said nothing, knowing full well when Malfoy would have been forced to endure worse than a transfigured sofa. A shudder ran through him at the image in his mind, followed by another caused by the sensual kneading of Draco's fingers. He let slip a tiny moan and Draco's hands were gone in an instant.

"All right, that's you sorted, Potter," he announced, only a hint of a waver detectable in his voice as he replaced the lid on the jar and moved to put it away.

Harry turned his head, his hand shooting out of its own accord to wrap around Malfoy's wrist as the blond made to leave. Mercurial eyes shot over to meet his gaze, that wild look of confusion and want returning to their depths as he stared down at Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said softly as he watched Malfoy's eyes widen in surprise, "for everything."

Malfoy stood staring at him for a few moments before he gave a barely-perceptible nod and gently extracted his wrist from Harry's grasp.

"Goodnight, Potter," he answered, his expression unreadable. With that, he turned and left the room.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

Once he was alone, Harry wasted no time in tending to his erection. A few rough strokes had him arching off the bed with Draco's name falling from his lips in desperate whisper. Retrieving his wand from the bedside table, Harry cast a quick _Scourgify_ and settled back beneath the duvet.

A sense of longing stole over Harry as he lay in the dark, surrounded by the expanse of Draco's massive bed. A bed that felt increasingly empty each day.

Harry wondered briefly what Malfoy would do if he were to go into the sitting room and slip into his makeshift bed. Probably kick him right back out and demand to know if he'd gone soft in the head. Or, he would just pretend like nothing had happened. Like he had when Harry had kissed him. Harry groaned and turned to bury his face in the pillow beneath him. What on earth had possessed him to kiss Draco Malfoy?

His mind immediately provided him with a flood of answers; the man had been working to help heal Harry, giving up his time and putting untold amounts of effort into helping him, despite their history. He was witty, not a little sarcastic, and generally enjoyable to be around once you got past the arrogance and snark. Funny, talented and altogether gorgeous. Was it any wonder that Harry was falling for him?

Harry's eyes snapped open at his sudden epiphany. He was falling in love with Draco bloody Malfoy. Disbelief hit him first, followed closely by panic which was soon overwrought by a strange sort of excitement. He never thought he'd feel like this again. Not after the disaster that was his previous relationship with Ginny. Though, if he were completely honest, what he felt for Draco now in its infancy was far more than he'd felt at the height of his passion for his ex-girlfriend.

His excitement was quickly tempered by the memory of the look on Draco's face when he'd pulled back from the kiss and how quickly he'd seemed to shove it aside and pretend it had never happened. Then again, while he hadn't responded, he certainly hadn't reacted negatively. Surely if Draco was disgusted by Harry, he would have pushed him away, right? He certainly wouldn't have had dinner with him and offered to give him his massage. Or had he simply been trying to force them back into some semblance of normalcy? Harry remembered the look of longing he saw in Draco's eyes as he'd thanked him and shook his head. There was something there. He knew it. All he had to do was find out what.

Harry decided that he would try again and when he did, he would get a reaction one way or another. If it was negative, he'd back off, but if it he was right and Draco wanted him, he would work to prove to the blond that they could be together. If Harry couldn't have his dream of flying, perhaps he could have a new dream. One that included Draco.

Smiling at the thought, Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	5. Part V

A/N: Here's the last part. Hope you liked it!

**Part 5**

Draco measured out an ounce of Puffer-fish parts and added them to the bubbling cauldron, stirring anticlockwise as he watched the potion for any signs of ill reaction. When the mixture turned a iridescent purple, he nodded to himself, a small smile of accomplishment on his face. Another few weeks and it would be ready.

Hearing sounds of movement coming from his outer office, Draco quickly cast a Stasis Spell and left the room, warding the door behind him. He turned around to see Harry moving toward him, only the tiniest hint of a wobble in his gait. The past week and a half he'd spent with Draco had seen a vast improvement in his recovery. With the aid of the potions Draco had tailored for him, as well as the reinstated use of the salve, Harry had been up and walking within days rather than the full week Madam Pomfrey had predicted, albeit with a lot of cursing and sniping at Draco when he offered help.

Neither of them had mentioned the kiss that they'd shared and it had not happened since. Well, perhaps "shared" was too loose a term given the fact that Draco had simply stood there as though he'd been hit with _Petrificus Totalus_.The blond inwardly cursed himself for the millionth time in a week. He'd had Harry Potter, the man of his fucking dreams, willing and pliant in his arms and he'd stood there like a complete idiot and done nothing. By the time he'd regained his wits, Potter had been stuttering an apology and looking so embarrassed that Draco had been sure he'd wanted to forget the whole thing.

Things had gone back to normal - as normal as they could be with Harry Potter living in his quarters - and Draco found it both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, they were able to get on as well as ever with only the occasional moment of awkwardness. On the other, Draco was being slowly driven mad by having Harry so close and being unable to touch him. Perhaps the most frustrating and confusing thing of all was Potter's behaviour toward him. Despite the usual bickering and snarky commentary between them, Harry had actually been rather pleasant. Too pleasant, in fact. He was always smiling and leaning too close. Always finding a way to touch Draco and drive him up a proverbial wall with need. If Harry wasn't such a consummate Gryffindor, Draco would have suspected the man of doing it intentionally.

It was all too much and instead of ridding himself of his ridiculous crush, Draco could feel his infatuation deepening with each passing day. By the time he was half way through the potion he was brewing he realized that he was head over heels in love with the bespectacled git. Why else would he spend all of his valuable free time concocting a cure that would inevitably take Harry away from him? Draco knew that, more than anything, Harry wished he could fly again. Not as an instructor, but as a full-out, no-holds-barred, professional Quidditch player with the freedom to do as many stunts and dives as he could. It tugged at something foreign inside of Draco to see the painful longing on Harry's face anytime the subject arose and after only the second day of having Harry in his care, he'd begun brewing a cure.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it of lingering thoughts, he arched a brow at Harry as he moved further into the room.

"Look at that, you can walk all by yourself." Draco sniffed dramatically and dabbed an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I'm so proud."

"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry said with a small smile as he approached. Draco smirked at his response and watched as Harry came to stand before him. An odd moment of silence followed as the two men stared at one another.

"Right. Well," Harry said, a curious blush rising in his cheeks as he broke the silence. "I guess since I'm mostly healed I should finally let you have your rooms to yourself again."

"Right," Draco replied, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Another silence grew as they continued to stand and stare at one another.

"I..."

"Well"

They stopped speaking as suddenly as they'd started, each chuckling awkwardly. Harry blushed deeper, running a hand through his hair, a sign of nervousness that Draco could have read from a mile away. He barely had time to wonder what Harry could possibly be nervous about before the man looked up at him with a determined glint in his eyes.

Draco's eyebrows rose as Harry stepped closer, pressing his Quidditch-toned body along the length of his. Harry's hand rose slowly to wrap around the base of Draco's neck, fingers curling in the tendrils of hair at the nape as he pulled Draco down to him. The gentle brush of lips barely qualified as a kiss, but even so it had Draco's breath hitching and his blood heating instantly.

"Harry," Draco murmured his name like a reverent prayer before he pressed closer, deepening the kiss as his arms wound around the ex-Gryffindor's waist, pulling him tight against his chest.

Draco's tongue dipped out to trace the shape of Harry's mouth, causing him to gasp lightly before he acquiesced to Draco's silent request for entry. He moaned as his tongue met Harry's, his head swimming with the overwhelming knowledge that he was _finally_ kissing the man he'd wanted for over a decade. Draco's hands began to move of their own free will as he plundered the sweet mouth moving beneath his, his fingers delving beneath the hem of Harry's shirt to caress the heated skin beneath.

All too soon, the need for air had them parting, each gasping for air as they stared at one another; Draco's hands gripping the firm globes of Harry's arse while Harry clung to his shoulders for balance.

"Fuck me," Harry said suddenly, his hooded, lust-darkened gaze boring into Draco.

The words went straight to Draco's cock, causing his already hard prick to throb almost painfully.

"Harry, I can't. You're still recovering."

"I'm fine, Draco. Please." Harry moaned as he leaned forward to lay a series of kisses along Draco's jaw. He sank his teeth into the soft patch of skin just behind Draco's ear, nibbling gently.

"Harry..."

"Please."

The word "please" coupled with the sensation of Harry's lips on his neck crushed Draco's resolve. Without warning, he gripped Harry's hips, spun him around and pressed him against the wood of the desk, his lips reclaiming Harry's with feral intensity. Draco's hands worked at the buttons of Harry's shirt, swiftly unbuttoning them to reveal a glorious expanse of toned, tanned flesh just begging to be worshiped. Leaning forward, Draco obliged, eagerly covering the warm skin with heated kisses and bites; sucking, licking and tasting his way down Harry's torso.

Harry moaned beneath the onslaught of Draco's mouth, his hands frantically working at the buttons of Draco's shirt until, finally, his hands reached Draco's abdomen. Draco moaned as Quidditch-rough hands touched him for the first time, each caress leaving fire in its wake.

"We should take this to the bedroom," he muttered between kisses even as his hand slipped into Harry's trousers to stroke his throbbing erection. The moan that came from Harry at the touch made Draco's knees weak with want.

"No. Here. Now," Harry demanded, fumbling with the clasp of Draco's trousers and shoving the offending clothing down past his slender hips. Emerald eyes darkened near to black at seeing Draco's cock freed from the confines of his trousers, the head glistening in the light of the office.

Harry swallowed thickly and glanced up into silver eyes, an unspoken question in his gaze. At Draco's nod of assent, Harry reached out, wrapped his fingers gingerly around the base of his shaft and gave it one long, tentative stroke.

"Fuck," Draco groaned, his hand stilling momentarily on Harry's prick as he arched into the inexpert touch.

Harry's eyes widened and a wicked smirk spread across his face as he got a firmer grip on Draco's prick and began to stroke in earnest.

Draco moaned again, his eyes sliding closed as Harry's hand worked him; his movements awkward at first, but with growing in confidence with each passing moment. What Harry lacked in expertise, he made up for with sheer enthusiasm. Draco's body thrummed with pleasure at each rough stroke, his knees threatening to buckle as a calloused thumb swirled over the sticky head of his cock, spreading the fluid that had gathered there. All too soon, he could feel his release approaching. Reaching down, he gripped Harry's wrist to still his movements.

"If you keep that up, I won't last," Draco warned.

Harry grinned at the proclamation, a look of unmistakable pride on his face.

Realizing that Harry had effectively robbed him of his control, Draco determined to take the lead once more. Gripping Harry's trousers with both hands, Draco dropped to his knees and dragged the cumbersome material down with him. Watching Harry from beneath a fan of white-blond lashes, Draco flicked his tongue out to taste the leaking head of the cock before him. The gasping moan of desire that came from Harry had Draco's lips twisting into a feral smirk before he leaned forward and wrapped them around Harry's cock.

Draco worked the turgid length of Harry's prick with relish, humming his approval at each and every moan and curse that fell from the brunet's lips. Strong fingers laced themselves in the soft locks of his hair as Harry began to thrust into his mouth. Sensing the man was nearing completion, Draco doubled his efforts; sucking, swirling and teasing until he felt Harry tugging desperately at his hair.

"Draco, I'm..."

Draco moaned as Harry came, hard and fast, filling his mouth with copious amounts of bitter-sweet fluid. Swallowing eagerly, he licked Harry clean with long, languid strokes of his tongue until he was shivering and begging him to stop. Finally, Draco relented and rose to place a deep, lingering kiss on Harry's lips.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco moved his hands to Harry's waist and urged him up onto the edge of the desk. Draco slipped his hands from Harry's hips to his thighs, spreading them wide as he moved to stand between them. As he teased Harry's tongue with his own, Draco let his hands wander down, drawing soft, teasing circles on Harry's inner thighs before slipping lower.

"You're sure?" Draco murmured as his fingers dipped down to trace Harry's entrance.

He arched into Draco's touch with a gasp.

"Absolutely sure," he replied, canting his hips forward as if to impale himself on the proffered digits.

A wave of lust surged through Draco at the wanton movement and he leaned in to take Harry's lips in another scorching kiss before pulling back to take a moment to fully admire the sight before him. Harry Potter - Saviour of the Wizarding World and bane of his existence for as long as he could remember – was stretched out on his desk, naked save for his unbuttoned shirt, his cheeks flushed, emerald eyes almost black and burning with desire as he waited impatiently to be touched. For _Draco_ to touch him. To make him his.

That thought finally spurred Draco into action. Reaching into the top right-hand drawer of his desk, Draco pulled out a pot of standard healing salve and unscrewed the lid. He smirked as Harry sent him a look of amusement.

"I'm a Slytherin and a Potions Master. We always like to be prepared," he said with a wink.

Leaning forward, he kissed the smile off of Harry's face, his tongue delving deep as he dipped his fingers into the salve and brought them to Harry's entrance. Harry moaned as Draco traced the ring of muscles, spreading the self-warming substance before pressing one finger into him. Harry gasped at the intrusion and instantly tensed against it.

"Relax, love," Draco murmured against Harry's lips, barely registering his use of the endearment as he gently eased his finger in and out of his tight hole. "I know it's off-putting at first, but it will get better. Trust me."

Whether it was his ministrations or his request for trust that inspired it, Harry's muscles instantly began to loosen. Draco's eyes opened and met hooded green filled with so much emotion that he couldn't look away if he'd wanted to. Withdrawing the first finger, Draco reinserted two more, working them in gently, yet firmly, confident that the healing properties of the salve were doing their job and effectively easing any discomfort Harry would feel.

Any worry regarding Harry's enjoyment was immediately eliminated by the cry of pleasure that came from him when Draco glided over his prostate. A wicked smile curved Draco's lips as he went about toying with that spot and turning Harry into an incoherent, babbling mess of need. Harry's renewed erection throbbed and twitched between them, red and weeping and utterly perfect.

"Now! Draco, please, now!"

The last of Draco's control snapped at the desperate plea. Slipping his fingers from Harry's entrance, he gathered more salve and quickly slicked his cock, ignoring the mess he made as it dripped with too much of the stuff. Gripping Harry's hips, he pulled him to the edge of the desk and lined himself up with his hole, pressing into him in one long, swift movement.

The tightness of Harry's walls around him had Draco seeing stars and his body shaking as he fought not to end it there and then. Once he was certain he wouldn't ruin the moment, Draco pulled out almost completely and slammed back in with a moan. Harry answered with a cry of pleasure and wrapped his legs tighter around Draco's hips, demanding more. Draco obliged, giving in to the animalistic urge to fuck. The sounds of flesh on flesh and the slick, delicious pounding of Draco's cock slamming into Harry's willing body filled the air, dancing around them along with moans and shouted oaths of pleasure.

Knowing he wouldn't last much longer, Draco adjusted the angle of his hips slightly so that every hard, punishing thrust drove his prick over Harry's sweet spot, tearing a litany of curses mixed with a reverent chant of Draco's name. Wrapping a steadying arm around Harry's waist, Draco brought his slick hand between them and stroked Harry's aching cock, bringing him over the edge with two firm strokes. The combination of Harry clenching around him and his desperate cry of pleasure had Draco following him mere moments after.

He rode out his pleasure, continuing to thrust deep into Harry until he had spent himself entirely. Draco leaned heavily against the desk, his forehead meeting Harry's as his shaky legs struggled to hold him up.

"Stay," he panted.

"Okay," Harry replied breathlessly.

Draco nodded against Harry's head and tried to catch his breath. As his heart slowed, Draco found himself smiling like an idiot before a giddy chuckle escaped him. He felt Harry's frown of confusion, but he couldn't help himself when his chuckle turned into a full blown laugh.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, obviously trying and failing to keep the insecurity from his voice.

Draco giggled a bit more before he finally managed pull back and answer.

"I've just fucked Harry Potter on the former desk of Severus Snape."

Harry's eyes widened in shock before his lips spread into a smile and a delighted laugh escaped him, causing Draco to moan as the action had Harry's walls clenching around the cock still buried in his arse.

"I wonder where else we can manage to fuck," Harry said with mirth and challenge shining in his eyes.

"I can think of a few places."

XXX

Two weeks later, Harry discovered that he was truly happy for the first time since his Quidditch accident. He was moderately healthy, a decent professor and completely in love.

Once they had broken past the barrier of uncertainty by way of mind-blowing sex on Snape's old desk – something that still brought a smile to Harry's face whenever he thought about it – Draco had proven himself to be both insatiable and daring. Harry had found himself in more compromising situations in the last two weeks than he'd ever thought possible; including a very exciting late-night encounter in McGonagall's chair at the Head Table.

They bickered as much as ever, many aspects of their rivalry carrying over into their sex life, but Harry found this only made their encounters more intense. They constantly challenged each other and despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, they seemed to fit perfectly.

Harry found himself missing Quidditch less and less the closer he got to Draco. He was slowly beginning to think that he could live happily at Hogwarts with the blond at his side. Of course, he still had no idea how Draco felt about him. Sure, he was attracted to Harry, that much as obvious by the sheer number of times they shagged each day. Draco just didn't seem to be able to keep his hands to himself whenever Harry was around, not that he was complaining.

Harry knew that Draco cared about him, but he had no idea how deep his emotions went. In the end, Harry found that, for now, he was content with what they had. Merlin knew Draco wasn't an overtly emotional person and Harry was certain if he broached the subject, he'd only push him away. He'd just have to be grateful for what he had and stop wishing for things he didn't.

Nodding absently to himself, Harry returned his attention to the Quidditch match just in time to declare Gryffindor the winner.

XXX

Draco peered into the cauldron, his heart skipping a beat as he took in the sight of the light-blue potion within. The mixture was complete and swirling in a sick mirror of his own emotions. There was a large part of him that felt proud that he'd been clever enough to concoct such a potion in the first place. This would revolutionize healing as the world knew it, and Draco would be the man behind the saving of many lives. But there was only one life he was interested in at the moment, and this cure would likely be the catalyst that sent him back to a life of professional Quidditch and away from Draco's arms. He refused to think about that now though. All he could think about was the joy he'd see in those emerald eyes when he told Harry that he would be able to fly like he wanted again.

It was time to give Harry back his life. A life of fame, freedom, and excitement. A life without Draco.

Stifling the vicious pang of pain that stabbed through him at the thought, Draco ladled the potion into a glass vial. He corked it and held it up to the light. There, sparkling innocently in his hand, was the end of his relationship with Harry. For a moment, Draco debated not giving it to him. Surely he deserved some sliver of happiness after the turmoil that was his life? He could smash the vial and Harry would never know that he'd had freedom so close at hand. They could be happy together. Only the memory of Harry's face, sorrow and longing etched in his beautiful features, had him abandoning that idea.

With a heavy sigh, Draco slipped the potion into his pocket and went to find the man he loved. He found him sooner than he might have liked, sitting in front of the fireplace in Draco's own living room as if he belonged there. Harry turned and offered a warm, welcoming smile that had Draco's resolve wavering. What harm could come of waiting a few more weeks before giving Harry his cure? Or even a few months?

Swallowing, he cursed his loss of Slytherin selfishness and strode purposefully over to the Gryffindor, pressing the vial into his hand before he could further doubt himself. He turned away, unable to look into the confused eyes of his lover and instead cast his gaze toward the fire.

"What's this?" Harry asked in a whisper so faint it was barely audible. "This doesn't look like my weekly regimen."

"That's because it's not," Draco replied, an edge to his voice. "It's a cure," he added simply, as though he hadn't just handed Harry a vial containing the key to his deepest wishes.

"A cure?" Harry repeated, a look of hope mingling with his confusion.

"It will heal your original injury as if it never happened," Draco boasted. "Feel free to worship at my feet and name your firstborn after my brilliance."

Draco looked at him again. Harry stared at the vial of blue liquid, ignoring Draco's haughty words as a myriad of emotions flitted across his expressive face; disbelief, awe, hope. He looked up at Draco, his eyes filled with confusion and an emotion Draco refused to name.

"I don't understand. This is what I've dreamed of ever since that first night in St. Mungo's. Why...why would you do this for me?" he asked, turning the vial over and over in his hands like a precious stone.

Draco shrugged negligently, doing his best to appear detached and clinical. "I had some free time. Besides, I can't continue to let you sulk through the castle like a tarnished suit of amour, now can I?"

Harry blinked and looked from the vial to Draco and back again, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Oh Merlin….oh fuck."

"What did you think this was?" Draco demanded, catching the look of recognition in Harry's gaze. "I've shared my bed with you, shared my life with you and every day I feel the waves of displeasure while you're thinking about the life you lost. Don't you think I know that being at Hogwarts was your second choice, a choice forced on you by an injury? Don't you think I realize that I'm your consolation prize?"

"I don't want the cure," Harry stated firmly, pressing the vial back into Draco's palm.

"That's preposterous," Draco growled, trying to shove it back at the petulant Gryffindor, but Harry would have none of it.

"All this time, I've been feeling sorry for myself, whinging about never being able to fly again, never feeling that joy, when this whole time I've had something that brings me more joy than flying _ever_ did. No. If gaining back the life I lost means losing this one, if it would mean losing you, I don't want it," Harry said, his voice deep with conviction.

Draco's heart skipped a beat at Harry's words and the love he heard within them. Harry loved him. Enough to give up Quidditch and life as he had known it. Harry Potter loved him enough to give up his passion for flying and freedom. It was inconceivable and unbelievable and the knowledge of it filled Draco so completely that he thought he would burst from the sheer, unadulterated joy that overwhelmed his heart.

"You know," he said, his mood significantly lightened by Harry's words and intoxicating proximity. "You could always take the cure and decide _not_ go back to being a professional Quidditch player," he mused aloud. "That is…if there is something to keep you here?"

"Well," Harry whispered, closing the distance between them, "I would feel like rubbish if I missed out on Creevey making Captain next year."

"I see," Draco replied bitterly, his lips curled into a tight frown that Harry wasted no time in attempting to kiss away.

"And of course, there's you," Harry whispered against his lips. "Tell me, Draco, would you tire of having me in your bed every night?"

Draco shrugged, pursing his lips imperiously. "I might, but we could always wait and see."

Harry smiled and pressed closer, taking Draco's lips with his own. As Harry deepened the kiss, Draco moaned, tightening his grip on him as his heart raced and his head spun. No. He didn't think he'd ever tire of this.

_Fin_


End file.
